Life of a Consort
by Owen96
Summary: The Consort; a beautiful woman, skilled in the abilities of trickery and manipulation. Nobody would expect her to be like this, and she wasn't always part of the mafia, a crime organisation. However, after losing everything, she had no choice but to join. However, with the town at large, lynching those who they suspect, she has to lie her way to survival; can she do it?
1. Night One: The Lynch

It was late at night, during the peak of summer. Despite the sun being completely hidden behind the considerably greying clouds, allowing no sun rays to pass by, it was still very mild outside and many insects such as mosquitoes and ants were still continuing with their chores. Many lanterns lay scattered around the medieval neighbourhood, swinging from slightly rusted metal chains hanging from simple wooden constructions. There were many different facilities in this happy town, excluding the fifteen houses, such as a small hospital, a jail that was rarely used, and a graveyard far at the back surrounded in thick layers of white mist that led into the forest. A young, beautiful woman slipped through the shadows, sneaking into alleyways, observing her surroundings carefully as she gingerly approached a tall house with a red, pointed roof.

The town was well acclaimed for being one of the friendliest, as the townies living inside always invited their neighbours inside for meals or just to have a chat. Despite this, something very dark went on in this town, known to most as 'Salem'; they hung those who they believed to be witches. In the centre of the town, surrounded by cobble flooring, was a wooden podium of which harboured a lynching post. It stood proudly in the middle, the trademark of the town, with a battered rope swinging limply from the wooden pillar. A lynching had gone on just a few days ago; a young woman, beautiful in every way, with glowing, friendly eyes and shiny red hair, was voted up to the podium by the town, believed to be working with the mafia. However, after she had desperately claimed her innocence, stating that the elderly man known as the 'Lookout' had only seen her sneaking into the house of the young man who died to distract him as she believed him to be mafia.

Despite her giving a good case, and a few uncertain members of the town conflicted over what to vote, Guilty or Innocent, the Sheriff of the town, after taking a puff of his pipe, demanded that everyone vote guilty on this obvious Consort. The woman pleaded for her life, tears streaming down her face, as one by one the townies wrote their answers on small, slightly stained pieces of paper and slipped them into a box. The Mayor of the town then opened the box and, with a slight sigh of sadness and a crack in his voice, revealed that the majority of the town had voted to lynch the poor woman, with a ratio of 9 guilt votes to 5 innocent. The Mayor, even though he had voted innocent and therefore his vote was worth three, had not managed to save the woman.

She screamed in distress as two burly men, members of the town, both claiming to be Bodyguards, tied the rope around her neck and placed her on a stool, while the townies watched, some crying in horror, some turned away, some watching happily in psychotic glee, and one smirking in the shadows, knowing the entire time that they truly were innocent, and that they were the real Consort. The Mayor, just before one of the muscled men kicked the stool the woman was perched on, allowed her twenty seconds to speak her mind. With tears in her eyes, she glared fiercely at the town.

"You all made a mistake! A terribly bad mistake! I'm the Escort; I'm innocent! You all just killed an innocent woman! I...I can't believe you would do this to me! I thought you all trusted me! I thought you all-" The woman's pathetically distressed rant was cut short as she felt the clank of wood hitting wood and her feet no longer finding ground. The thick rope attacked her neck, piercing her throat, causing blood to drip out of the wound that came from the burning pain, landing on the ground in spots. The young woman's eyes rolled back into her head, becoming completely white and almost ghost-like as her hands scratching at her neck went limp and her body swung motionlessly back and forth while the town stared at the corpse. They had done it. They had lynched the woman who they thought for so long was on their side.

The Mayor slowly stepped forward, approaching the body of the attractive woman like it was a nervous cat, ready to pounce away at any second and never be seen again. He slid his left hand softly into her boot, finding a small, white parchment rolled up, securely inside the footwear. He nervously unrolled it and read it for a second, before his eyes widened in absolute shock and disbelief. His body racked with fear as he let go of the paper, not even looking as it floated down to the ground, revealing the black scrawling on the surface.

"She...she...she really was the Escort! She was telling the truth!" The Mayor barely managed to gasp out, feeling sick to the stomach that the town had just lynched an innocent woman. As the town began to freak out, the true Consort played along, looking around fearfully, but inside she was ecstatic. The mafia must be proud of her after that performance! She desperately tried to ignore the growing feeling of guilt and dread inside her as she walked back to her house for the night, ready to leave a few hours later and go to the mafia's secret hiding place with the two other members.

It was now a few hours later, and the surprisingly humid air outside gave the Consort a startle. She gently closed her wooden door, hearing the satisfying click of the golden latch falling closed, keeping her door secure. She then walked through the streets of Salem, making sure no Lookout or Investigator were around to see her. She pressed her back against the wall of the jail, hearing the jailor discussing with their prisoner. She listened carefully and sighed in relief; the voice was not similar to any members of the mafia. She gingerly slipped past the window as if she were part of the shadows; any normal, unexperienced person wouldn't be able to tell her apart.

She reached a pitch black alleyway and relied on her memory to reach the metal door of the hideout; seven steps forward, one step left...yep, that was the door. She rapped her knuckles against the iron three times, creating a sort of tune, and a slider in the door shot open and she was greeted with the intimidating eye of the Consigilere. Recognising her, the black-clad man who always stashed a magnifying glass in one of the many pockets of his long, black coat opened the heavy door which scraped across the ground. The two of them greeted each other without saying so much as a word, simply communicating via eye contact. These times were far too dangerous to even speak, especially with a Spy lurking around. The Spy was likely the only person more experienced than herself in staying hidden and unobserved, and thus was why they were remaining quiet for the time being until he had been eliminated.

The Consort walked through a small, dimly-lit tunnel barely illuminated by swinging lanterns, eventually reaching a brown oak table with four chairs set up. As the Consort walked past the one originally occupied by the Mafioso, who had died weeks ago, she felt tears building up in her eyes and she clenched her fists, trying to blink them away. She missed him so much; he was like a brother to her, same with the Consigilere and the father figure that the Godfather was to her. She remembered when he was lynched...she was basically forced to vote guilty, because the evidence against him was too much and if she voted innocent it would have been too suspicious...the mafia were the family that the Consort never had, and thus was the reason she had joined in the first place.

"Welcome. We have many things to discuss tonight." The Godfather said, glancing down for a moment at the messy display of papers spread out on the table in front of him. They were mostly documents; some featured members of the town, with a picture of them and a growing list of information acquired by the Consigilere and the Consort. It was the Godfather's job to decide who to kill and perform the execution without any mess. As everyone in the town knew there was a Godfather, including the Spy, there was no need for them to stay quiet, but it was vital that the other two do so as they didn't want the town knowing what their capabilities were. "Firstly, well done on getting that girl lynched. I'm extremely proud of you."

As he said this, he pointed his finger towards the Consort's direction, and her eyes were drawn to his many rings he had on both of his hands. The Consort was happy to have her leader's approval, but it still made her feel slightly upset and guilty that she was being congratulated for causing the death of an innocent person. She nodded with a smile, flashing her sparkling white teeth. The Godfather leaned back in his chair, placing one foot over the other whilst putting pressure on the table leg to keep him suspended in the air. He lay his hands over his chest, his eyes closed, thinking hard. He was silent for a few seconds, then he began to speak. He took his half-used cigarette out of his mouth and slammed it down on a stone ashtray, exhaling the last puff of smoke which drifted up into the air.

"We need to act fast. It will not be long before the idiotic members of this painfully dreary town will be leaving their houses, performing their nightly jobs. The Jailor, the Bodyguard, the Investigator and the Sheriff are still at large, along with the other townies who aren't as vital to our survival. We need to up our game, or soon we'll be on that wooden podium, swinging from the bloody rope, just like..." The Godfather halted his speech, noticing the growing upset expression on the Consort's face and the slightly shocked one belonging to the Consigilere. "I apologise, you two. It's just...I'm beginning to get worried. Worried that not all of us will survive this; maybe none of us at all. We have to start focusing more. We have to make others appear suspicious, rally the town into lynching them, and killing the others one by one."

The Godfather then proceeded to stare at the sheets of paper for a few more minutes while the other two waited solemnly in silence. Eventually, he planted a finger down on the image of a middle-aged man with black hair and brown boots. The information written underneath his picture linked him to being the Investigator.

"Him. I'll deal with him tonight. Now, for you two," The Godfaher looked up, glancing between them both, then pointed to two other people among the many sheets of paper he obtained from a Forger who was part of another mafia organisation in a far away town. He nodded towards the Consort. "You, deal with her. And you, deal with him. I need to go take care of the other man. I hope to see you all tomorrow, and good luck against the prying eyes of the town."

And with that, the three of them stood up and walked down the corridor one by one, with the Godfather ahead, followed by the Consigilere, and lastly the Consort, who was nervously playing with her hands. She hoped it would all go well, with no issues...but that was never guaranteed. However, it was her choice to be part of the mafia, and she had no choice but to do her job until either victory occured...or the bitter end came in the form of a rope and a pedestal. That was the last thing she wanted. So, when she walked by the Lookout who was on his way to the Jailor's, she repeated the same lie she had been stating for a month now; "I'm the Escort."


	2. Night Two: The Jail Cell

The Escort looked around the dark, damp room she was currently in. She was sat on a moulded, wooden stool that had uneven legs and therefore wobbled upon the slightest movement, and was surrounded by four black walls. Murky water dripped from the leaky roof, landing in a bucket that was gradually filling. There was a small square window at the back, with three iron prongs securely inside the shaft, preventing escape during interrogation. The Escort shivered. Somehow, even though it was summer, inside the jail cell it felt freezing cold. A person had been executed in here...the man who she had heard being interrogated just the night before had been shot by the Jailor, who didn't believe his plead for innocence. It turned out he was the Serial Killer. Now it was her turn.

All she had to do was lie successfully and the Jailor would let her go. One of her greatest talents, and one of the main reasons she joined the mafia in the first place was because of her ability to manipulate and deceive. Sure, she had a pretty face, but behind the good looks and beautiful eyes lay a clever mind, trained in trickery. She tried to stay calm. She stared at the Jailor as he placed a bullet in his gun, sliding the latch open and putting it in, ready to shoot having heard the slightest whiff of a lie. It would be even harder for her to claim Escort than it originally would be too, as the true Escort had died only two days before.

The day had ended just a few hours before, with no lynchings taking place but a lot of accusations, including many on her. It wasn't enough to get her up to the pedestal to plead her case, but definitely enough to make people suspicious, which was likely why the Jailor had captured her. She had been walking towards the mafia hideout when out of nowhere he gripped her wrist and practically dragged her to the cell; there was absolutely nothing she could do. Now, here she waited, ready for him to ask his first question.

"So," he paused to take a drink of water from a glass before gently placing it on a wooden shelf, leaving a ring of water on the surface. "You claim to be the Escort, correct?"

"Yes." The Consort replied, with no sense of worry or fear in her voice. She stared straight ahead, right into the Jailor's eyes, unmoving. Despite her exterior showing no signs of intimidation, inside her mind was whirring. She did NOT want to be killed tonight. She would NOT be killed tonight.

"I have a hard time believing that, and I think you probably know why. The Escort was lynched two days ago, and I really doubt that you could also be one. The pile of evidence stacking against you is getting higher and higher, and I'm not sure if I should allow you to walk free..." The Jailor said. The Consort noticed immediately that he was in complete disbelief of what to do based on his speech and body movement. She had to take advantage of that.

"Are you kidding me? Why are you so untrusting of people? First the poor Escort, and now me!? What's wrong with you? If you kill me, everyone in the town will be against you. You'll have helped kill two INNOCENT people. People with lives; hopes and ambitions once they get out of this mess! You still have time. Let me go. Trust me. I'm the Escort." The Consort's mouth ran at the speed of a rushing waterfall, crashing onto the sharp rocks below. While she spoke she glared fiercely at the Jailor, her eyes burning into his brain, mentally attacking him. The Jailor listened to her words, and for a moment looked like he was going to unlock the cell door and allow the Consort to walk free, but then he remembered who the prisoner was and his eyes narrowed.

"You've given me no proof to make me think you're innocent! All you've done is yell at me! You're trying to mess with my mind, you mafia scum! You...you're the Consort!" The Jailor growled angrily, putting his face right up close to the bars, nothing but rage on his face. His hand was planted firmly on the gun, inching further towards the trigger. The Consort's eyes widened slightly, and fear suddenly whipped around her body as if she were being attacked with a belt. Her hope was starting to falter. He had literally just named the exact personshe was, and seemed completely certain of his choice to execute her. What could she do!? She didn't have much time left!

"L-listen to me! You're making a rash decision! You may not have any proof that guarantees my innocence, but what evidence do you have that proves I'm guilty!? The people accusing me could be members of the mafia themselves! This is a dumb idea! I'm the Escort!" The Consort cried, standing up from her stool and hearing it clatter to the ground. The Jailor's fingers snaked towards the trigger. She gritted her teeth. "Please...I don't want to be killed! I don't want to die!"

The Jailor stopped. His fingers let go of the trigger. He watched as the Consort started crying immensely; the tears ran down her face, streaking her eyeliner, and she seemed completely hopeless and in despair. She sniffled, wiping her eyes with her gloved hand. She lay on the wet ground, seemingly waiting for her execution to commence. Suddenly, the Jailor felt incredibly guilty. Was he making the right decision doing this? If she truly was the Consort, then it would aid the town heavily...but what if she wasn't? What if she was innocent, really was the Escort? He scratched at his head, extremely conflicted.

The Consort also had another talent. The ability to fake emotions. It didn't take her long to start bawling her eyes out, appear pathetic, desperately wanting to survive. She knew the Jailor was still thinking, and she was ecstatic. It was tough to pull off, but she really thought she was going to survive. She continued to cry, hearing nothing but her constant, seemingly endless sobs and sniffles. The Jailor stared at his gun for a moment before slamming it on the shelf.

"Okay, okay! I believe you! Don't think the suspection is even close to being away from you, however. The mafia is still at large, and I'm going to do everything in my power to stop them." The Jailor muttered, rustling his hand around in his pocket for his ring of keys before proceeding to pull them out and walk slowly towards the cell door. He stood in front of it, searching for the right key, while the Consort waited.

All of a sudden, the jail door opened extremely slowly and quietly, enveloping the room in the light of the approaching morning. The Jailor did not hear as the keys constantly slamming against each other took up his entire hearing space. The Consort gasped slightly to see the Godfather quietly walk in, clutching a knife in his left hand. Upon seeing the Consort, he rose a finger to his lips and she didn't respond; she didn't want the Jailor knowing who was behind him under any circumstances. Her body started shaking and her breathing quickened slightly. The Godfather crept closer and closer to the unsuspecting townie, who had finally found the key and rose it to the lock. The Godfather stood behind the Jailor, slowly lifting up the knife, his eyes focused on the back of his target, his pupils completely unmoving. He was totally silent, and the Consort respected this attribute of him.

The Jailor stuck the key in the lock, and as he turned it and the cell door opened the Godfather thrust the knife into his back, penetrating through the thin flesh, the blade going almost completely inside the poor man's body. His eyes widened but he didn't speak, he only coughed. As he did this, a small spot of blood came out of his mouth as if it were saliva, landing on the Consort's clothes. She wiped the blood off with her hand, then stared solemnly at the Jailor, no expression or sense of remorse on her face. The Godfather, with a slight groan of effort, yanked the knife out of his back and pushed the Jailor to the floor. As he fell, the man looked at the Consort and the only thing she could see in his eyes was betrayal before he hit the floor, completely motionless. Blood poured out of the wound on his back. The Consort and Godfather looked into each other's eyes.

"We have to get back." The man said, wiping his knife on the Jailor's clothes and slipping it back into his pocket before turning swiftly and leaving the jail. The Consort gingerly stepped over the corpse, ignoring the feeling of nausea growing in her stomach, and focused on escaping with nobody seeing her. This was her life now, and she had to accept it. The life of crime. The life of lies. The life...of the mafia.


End file.
